Fleas - Songs of the Gnolls I

EPILOGUE

The dry wind hit him with the jealous fury of a spurned lover. Fleas accepted its resentment and moved on, following the tracks. It was the sixth day of travel in the savannah and he finally spotted the tribe on the horizon. Noticing the tents swaying in the heat reflected off the sandy earth, he drew strength from some mysterious place, perhaps his heart, and ran. Cubs he didn't know saw him and guided him toward the center, asking a thousand questions along the way.

The hyaenids gathered around him. Zeppel stepped forward with a crooked smile.

"You have grown."

Fleas dropped his belongings and ran to her, jumping up and hugging her. Zeppel took a few steps back, almost losing her balance. She was no longer a rigid mountain. She still had much more strength than him anyway.

"I guess it's not me who you want to see. She's over there."

Before leaving, Fleas picked up a gift he had brought her from the objects scattered on the floor. Kkelea was talking to an orc. He later learned that relations between the two had improved considerably, especially since the orcs no longer relied on the root to control their emotions. They had learned restraint from the slaves of the solar coliseum. When Kkelea smelled his scent, she turned. The orc insisted on saying something to her, but she ignored him and ran in his direction. Fleas too. Without a word, they embraced and lay on the ground like archaic roots, laughing loudly. Kkelea licked his forehead and they both got up. She had grown a lot. She was almost as big as Zeppel. And in their hug, he had felt her more powerful than some mirrimal knights.

"Look," Fleas picked up the gift he had left on the ground and held it out to her. "It was all I could think of."

Kkelea pulled the cloth aside and, yes, it was a painting.

"You're a fool, you should think of yourself too. What brings you here? You're not going to tell me you came alone to give me this."

Fleas held out his hand. Kkelea looked at him, confused.

"Let us see the inexhaustible sea. The green forests. The dark ruins. Let us see skies of all colors, sunsets, sunrises. Let us smell the fields in bloom, let us hear the whistling of the wind, the sonata of the crickets under the stars. Let's meet creatures of all shapes and sizes. Let us see if the world ends where the map ends, or if there is more world."

Kkelea looked away.

"You can do that alone. You don't need me."

"Yes, I can do it alone. But I need you too. I can't explain it, I can only feel it."

A tear slipped softly down Kkelea's cheek and got lost in the fur. Fleas stepped forward and took her hand. She squeezed it tightly. In times of war a shield must be indestructible, but in this peace it must crack and show the fragility of what it protects. And she knew it.

"You'll have to find a successor first, won't you?"

"No, I know someone who was always there, whispering softly the right words, the right advice, or the most beautiful stories. In our former tribe, a soft voice who was lost among the war cries, but now that tone is needed."

One cool fall morning, Kkelea and Fleas set out. While he painted everything he saw and discovered, she left her scream behind and learned to sing. Fleas wasn't sure, but he could swear that the melody of her voice made the plants bloom. Fleas' dreams were never troubled by nightmares again. And Kkelea forgot the sound of the word tradition. They had bad times, like seasonal storms, but side by side, in a world that too often withers, they discovered the closest thing to Eden, right there in each other's eyes.